Bonds of War
by Talosee
Summary: As the war between Horde and Alliance is about to escalate in near future, some trick of fate messes with Jerlis' neatly laid out way of life. Friends... they can truly be a pain in th- well, troublesome.
1. Chapter: An Introduction

** Introduction**

A moment of weightlessness, a moment that felt like eternity. He disappeared from the spot, where he'd stood, and reappeared in another.

Jerlis Duskmender didn't open his eyes just yet, instead he stood silent and unmoving, breathing the air surrounding him in long, deep breaths. It was warm and dry, sprinkled with viridity and magic. Like an invisible cloak, it engulfed him first from the outside, than trailing into his lounges and from there his entire body. It felt good to be at home, at last. How long had it been? – Too long, he resumed.

Gathering his pack over his shoulder, pulling his massive raptor behind him, Jerlis walked down the narrow path right into the old thalassian Throne Room within the Inner Sanctum. Nowadays it was just a gathering place for the Regent Lord and his councilors, a fitting space for them to make decisions for the future of their people – at least the public ones, any real decisions were usually made behind locked doors, probably hidden by magic…

This afternoon, however, while he walked past the Throne, the place was vacant save for the Royal Guards. These stoic men in their red and gold attire didn't show any sign that they noticed the lone priest at his vicious mount, who came down from the Orb of Translocation. They also didn't stir, when the agitated raptor hissed and whistled in distress.

Jerlis on his part ignored the guards, just as they seemed to ignore him. However, he knew better: They eyed his every move, no motion of his went unnoticed, no hushed word to sooth the wild, barbaric beast went unheard. Only because he was of their kin, a Blood Elf native to the city of Silvermoon, made them a little more relaxed than they would be if he was an orc or troll.

While leaving the Sunfury Spire, which also held the schools for mages and priests, Jerlis deliberately ignored his mount. He knew the raptor well enough to know that it would calm down on its own soon, it just hated any kind of teleportation. If it would have been any option, Jerlis would have spared the distress the beast was suffering of, but his friend, whose letter he received just a few weeks ago had been adamant that he had to come as fast as he could.

Mounting his raptor outside the spire, Jerlis remembered his angry superior when he tried to explain that he had to leave his post – trouble at home, he'd said, knowing full well that Sera was no relative other than a good friend and reliable comrade. But he also knew his commanding officer: Unless Jerlis' father was about to die this very moment, or something similar, he would never allow him, Jerlis, to leave before his official vacation: Field medics where hard to get these days, especially since they were the primary target during raids.

A ghost of a smile settled on his features, as Jerlis guided his mount down the bright streets of his home city, passed the Great Central Fountain. He could speak out of own experience here: He was a healer, in general standing behind the lines. However, he had learned that standing too far from the action was pretty dangerous. Night Elves and such weren't stupid (a shame, it would make things much easier… and much more boring without a decant challenge), they would simply sent a little party of assassins behind enemy lines to kill the Hordes medics. And ever since Jerlis escaped those ambushers, he positioned himself as close to the warriors in the front line as possible, often enough fighting and killing the enemy himself between some healing spells.

And it had been worth it, he thought while purchasing some provisions in the Wayfarer's Rest Inn. Fighting with magic and sword alike (Jerlis usually carried a long light imbued staff, but if a fight was upon him, he would draw his sword, slashing and stabbing his path through any enemy stupid enough to think him easy prey just because of his long robes) while keeping his comrades alive in the process, earned him a great deal of respect among his fellow Hordes. Never shunning battle, being veteran of almost every battleground in Azeroth, made him almost indispensible.

Almost. Otherwise he would have never been able to coax these few months off duty from his commander. But then again, he usually never claimed any free time by himself, unless his superiors made him to, just to regain some well earned rest and tranquility from the stress of battle: Priest though he was, Jerlis was a warrior like any of his plate wearing companions.

Leaving the inn, he silently fastened his packs on his mount, which had calmed down and waited patiently for its master to climb back into the saddle. Before doing so, however, Jerlis eyed the plaza of the Walk of Elders in front of him under a furrowed brow. The plaza was almost deserted, only a few citizens rushing along.

Not long ago, at least not in the way elves regarded as long, this very plaza had been buzzing with life. With colorful ladies and lords wandering the lanes, a warm breeze getting caught in their light garments, merry merchants propagating their wares while the guards smiled and talked easily with the passers-by, not in the least worried that anything could happen. It had been Silvermoon after all, Jewel of High Elven society, there was no need for guards or what so ever, nothing could threaten them. If anyone would have asked Jerlis about the possibility of betrayal back then, he would have laughed, very loud so.

Now, many years later, Jerlis had do admit, that, in comparison to his long life, his whole world chanced within a matter of seconds. The Sunwell, center and soul of their people, corrupted and destroyed, their whole kingdom cursed by the Scourge, Silvermoon crumbled to mere ruins, less than a shadow of what it once had been…

Yes, they, the Blood Elves, had managed to rise again, managed to reclaim part of their legacy, but that didn't change anything at all about those countless souls lost in these dreadful days. Gazing gloomily over the plaza, reminded him all too much about days long since passed, days in which countless children would chase each other over this very place, shaded by golden trees…

Sighting, Jerlis mounted his raptor, urging it into a low trot while guiding it over to Shepherd's Gate, leaving the city for Eversong Woods. There were no children anymore in Silvermoon, they were all gone, dead and forgotten. Unlike trolls or humans, blood elves didn't procreate as numerous. Having naturally long life spans, elven women usually gave birth to two or three children in their life. And since it wasn't so long ago since Silvermoon and Eversong again became places to settle in and be safe, it took quite a while since the first blood elf children were born. Mostly they were moved to Sunstrider Isle with their mothers, but still children born after the war were scarce and even more valuable.

Jerlis, having no children of his own, never ceased thinking about them. Imagining the burden they were born with, firstly the burden of addiction to magic, and secondly the tragedy of their peoples past. It would take a long time, maybe even beyond his own life span, but Jerlis doubted that these newly born would never know the joys of life as it had been in the past, the way he had spend his childhood. Yes, that time was truly long ago…

* * *

Eversong was all gold and green, eternal spring made the trees being in bloom almost all the time. Only the amiable observer would see, that not all trees were thriving, but that some of them were naked and sad, as if sleeping – which they did: the never changing climate of Quel'Thalas made the trees changing within their own seasons, and always at different times: the majority of trees would always flourish and dominate the picture, while the others were resting.

His raptor strode happily at high speed, its long legs making huge steps, relishing in it, never minding either its comparably small rider nor those many packs bound to it. Jerlis had do smile slightly, he knew all too well that he people usually used hawkstriders, native beast from Quel'Thalas, as riding mounts, but he had long since learned that a less colorful mount was much more beneficial on the battlefield, and less obvious. Sure, there were even black hawkstriders, but they were rare and therefore almost unaffordable. Due to chance, Jerlis had accompanied some fellow Hordes, three trolls, two of them twin brothers, down into the crater of Un'Goro. There he had the unique opportunity to tame and raise his own raptor.

His companions at first didn't take him serious when he proclaimed his desire to tame such a beast, but his endurance earned him respect and after many weeks he finally had the little raptor following his orders and after half a year he could mount it. It took another year for it to reach its adult size, which was impressive to behold. His raptor with poisonous skin, was larger than many other Horde raptors and he often suppressed a satisfied grin whenever trolls and others would wonder who was the master of this magnificent beast.

His good mood however changed rapidly the further south he got – till they finally reached the border to the yet unclaimed woods of the Ghostlands.

The raptor snapped in irritation. It knew this place, and its riders reaction regarding the closing proximity to this cursed forest, was enough to set it back on edge, its nostrils and eyes wide and agitated. This was not that moment stretched into eternity, this was a dark, brooding place they were about to enter. Bleak, malevolent trees stretched their once blooming branches towards each other, like skeleton hands entwining and grasping. Even with the elves superior sight and the keen senses of his mount, these ghostly trees hid to many things from sight that a traveler needed to see…

Fairbreeze Village was already far behind him. With some slight aching in his heart, Jerlis remembered the little town. As a novice, when he had been one of those very few high elven priests back then, he'd lived there, working on his spells, calling upon the Holy Light rather than simply using the arcane energies of the Sunwell to do his bidding. It had been strange for the young elf he was been back then, to _ask_ for something. Normally, things were simply _given_, even without needing or wanting them. Magic simply happened.

Nowadays, though, this restraint and, to a certain degree, humbleness concerning his profession, helped him now. His kin were not used to cut back and to admit defeat, to accept that this changed world was nothing they could handle on their own. If being betrayed by one their own and then being overrun by a flood of Undead wasn't bad enough, the new reality came close to break their backbone. It didn't surprise Jerlis one bit, that so many of his kin lost their sanity, becoming the Wretched Ones, raiding everything that came close enough to their hideouts, or submitting into boundless consumption in Outland – with a nice amount of insanity included…

Once, he had inwardly scolded his parents for persisting that he would walk the path of a priest, back than a useless path of hardship and abstinence. He'd hated being a priest, yet he couldn't argue much against it. _The world is full of different powers, we do well to learn them all_, his father had said. Presently, Jerlis came to fully agree with his "old man", even if it took him about three hundred years to really appreciate it.

* * *

Tranquillien was… tranquil. It was a place of constant complaint: complaints from the resident blood elf civilians and the Forsaken alike, and in the end the simple need to ignore everything that didn't please. The guards would lash out at anything that wasn't blood elf or Forsaken – sometimes accidently attacking Darkspear trolls, their sworn allies from the Horde. The Silvermoon representatives would make sure to make their attire as shining and brilliant as it would be in their home city, while their Forsaken counterparts would make sure to be as haggard and shabby as they could. Somehow, Jerlis had the feeling, both sides did this on sole purpose…

"A priest, to aid us in our endless campaign?" one of the guards asked hopefully, as he passed in a slow pace. "We could surely need another hand here…"

"Just passing through on my way to… the Farstrider Enclave," Jerlis answered after a moments consideration. He hadn't expected, that people here would try to keep him here. "High Command business and stuff, you know…" It was often enough, that envoys of the Hordes High Command were send into the more remote battlegrounds for inspection. They traveled through one town to the next, never sharing more than a few set phrases before leaving again. Now, Jerlis was surely no envoy, but his dark red and black robes with his obvious Horde badge showing off his rank, should be enough to suffice. Good thing he didn't need to restock his supplies, he left after a short meal in the inn.

Good thing his goal wasn't far anymore. He'd left his current post in Ashenvale two weeks ago. The long ride from Splintertree Post to Orgrimmar (he could have taken a wyvern, but he'd to take his raptor with him), from there with the zeppelin to the Undercity, there the Translocation Orb to Silvermoon, and then the long ride south to get here. He hoped his friend would already wait for him at the agreed meeting place… it would save time.

She got him curious, that was for sure. Usually he wouldn't ask for some vacation all of a sudden, but Sera's letter, passed to him by some shady goblin coming all the way from Ratchet and didn't even ask for money, alarmed Jerlis' suspiciousness. What had she done to that poor fellow, that he didn't even do what all goblins did: getting as much money out of a case as possible, by regular or illegal means. And this one didn't even ask. After receiving the note, Jerlis first checked his belongings and his mounts saddle packs, just to make sure the messenger hadn't taken advantage in any kind by distracting him. So, either way, she had paid him and his boss a fortune (which she simply didn't poses, to Jerlis' knowledge) or she'd been in one of her more fear installing moods by which she forced them to deliver the message, without asking any kind of questions. It really seemed like the poor goblin was pretty relieved to get rid of the thing…

However, it didn't contain any warning of mortal danger, or a tip about Alliance movement in Ashenvale, nor any sign of some long lost tome about the Holy Light hidden in some remote ruins (these things being of the kind able to attract his interest), just some vague story about how life could be a bitch ("Tell me about it", was what he'd been thinking while reading that), that sometimes you didn't have the power to influence things (this got his attention… speaking of a blood elf unable to influence her own life), and that he simply had to come right now to meet her, as fast as he could. It wasn't what she wrote him, that unsettled him, but those things he imagined and which she didn't mention. Only the Light knew what kind of trouble she was in. And talking about Seraphita Moonshadow, those troubles had to be immense at least.

* * *

There it was, the Andilien Estate. Once it had been a large Manor, open to travelers even from beyond the Thalassian Pass, it's master had been a generous man who'd even welcome a troll (an Amani Troll, to be more precise), if such a case would occur. Today the leftovers of its ruins would serve him as temporal residence until Sera would show up.

Slipping off his raptor, he undid the packs and turned to the ruin. The former manor really did the term justice, there was hardly any cache to build his camp. On the other hand, if he build his tent right next to the broken down wall, using it as a wind screen, things should work out just fine. He was soldier after all, making himself a nice cozy camp, had become second nature to him… And this time, he didn't have to endure the stench of numerous unwashed, sweating, dirty bodies enclosed in some cramped barracks. Good thing was, after a few days one would simply harden against the sensation… at least, he did, and he thanked the Light every day he had to march or rest between him comrades.

Those thought of cramped spaces, he picked up a sturdy stick and started to dig a small pit in the dark soil. First, he would make himself a nice fire before building his tent and prepare his bedroll, and then he would relish the feeling of boredom while waiting. His raptor would go for a hunt and keep watch afterwards, as it always did when they were travelling alone. Since he had raised the beast by himself, it was trained to protect him in case anyone would try to sneak upon him…

Therefore, Jerlis was unprepared when a heavy blow struck him on the back of his head. The stabbing pain shot right in his eyes, before blackness claimed him.


	2. Chapter: Dropping and Dragging

I still don't know were to get them in the end (maybe they all die *muahaha*) or some "happily ever after", I have no clue... Enjoy yourselves, anyway.

* * *

**2. Dropping And Dragging**

He awakened slowly, his head was blearily, not to mention the pain, nestled above his eyes. Flexing and relaxing his hands, it didn't take long till his situation dawned to him: He had been captured. His hands tightly bound on his back, ropes cut into in torso, knees and ankles, and he had been gagged. Whoever was responsible here knew how to disable a priest: Bereft of motion and speech, he couldn't perform any helpful spell or call. Currently, his eyes still closed, he was being carried by someone, humanoid as far as he could tell, thrown over a man's shoulder (it had to be a man, otherwise this lady should take more care for her personal hygiene…), who walked rather slowly. And they were alone, too, save for some heavy someone, who was limping – this limp-one seemed to be the reason, why they were so slow…

But who was his captor? – Some Horde, who thought him a thread, or some Alliance scum? But still, why here? Only one way to find out…

Cracking one eyes open, Jerlis couldn't suppress a pained groan. Even if the light around him was darkly, it was still too bright for his own comfort. For a split moment he had the impression, his head wanted to explode (that would have been messy…). In his misty mind, he thought he heard his captor saying something, but it didn't sink into him. Blinking, he made out a broad back, clad in black leather – a rogue, how surprising… And according to the soil, they must be somewhere close to the Dead Scar – either closing in to, or already leaving it; he had no idea. However, looking downwards, Jerlis' heart skipped a beat: No mistake possible anymore, he was being kidnapped by a member of the Alliance. His captor was a Worgen!

Somehow, this was even more confusing. Why was a Worgen up here? They were busy in Gilneas and Silverpine, but not here. What was a Worgen doing here? And what did it… he want from him? – Rummaging his brain, Jerlis searched for any connection he might have with the worgen and their kingdom. He also didn't with the Forsaken since he left years ago to Kalimdor, so this couldn't be something about vengeance… or could it? And what about that letter? Why this trap? Here, in the Ghostlands of all places! – His captor's identity cleared, just caused many more questions… And who was the other one? The limping one…?

Turning his head, he finally it: With a start, he recognized his own raptor! The poor beast was in a pitiable state: It had countless wounds all over it, probably dealt by daggers, and it's maw was shut tight by leather ropes. After he had been knocked out, his mount had obviously fought that sneaky worgen bastard, and was overpowered in the end. Its limping resulted in a severed sinew, the beast wasn't able to properly use it's leg and was humping on the other.

Frowning, Jerlis let his head sink again, closing his eyes. Whatever was going on here, he couldn't simply hang here and wait, he had to _do_ something. He wouldn't wait till his captor would turn him to his superiors. And the letter? That and Sera had to wait. First, he had to get out of here!

Ignoring his headache, he thrashed against his unyielding bonds – succeeding in a way: Surprised by the sudden agitation of his captive, the worgen unceremoniously dropped his burden.

Everything happened so quickly. Even being unable to move much, Jerlis used his slight moment of advance, kicking with both feed against the worgens knee as hard as he could. An angry howl of pain, and surprise, answered his effort, when his enemy dropped to his knees. Another kick struck the worgen at his head, rending him dazed for the moment.

Looking around wildly, Jerlis found a sharp edge, a stone or a long lost blade. He didn't care. Pressing his bonds against the edge in earnest, he knew, time was on the essence. As long as his hands were bound in his back and he was unable to utter any call to the Light, or its counterpart, he was defenseless. But if he got his hands free, he could get rid of that gag… and then, may the Light have mercy with that worthless, sneaky cur, for he would show it what it meant to face him when he was pissed…

An angry snarl, a warning hoot of his raptor, and his heart sank: Too late.

He felt the worgen pounce him. He was hit hard, a merciless hand grabbed his hair, pulling him upright, before a fist launched against his abdomen, cutting off his breath. Black dots danced before his eyes, and he felt the ingredients of his stomach, deciding they wanted to exit his system the wrong way… He was lucky, sort of: Coughing despite the gag, he tried to get some air back in his lungs, while he heard his captor swearing in earnest. A hiss pulled him out of his stupor; just in time looking up, he saw his raptor attacking the worgen.

The beast, brave and courageous as it was, which he knew first hand, was barely able to stand on its uninjured leg. Raptors were smart and once they pledged their loyalty, they kept it till the very end. Now, it was using this moment of confusion and attacked that sneaky enemy, that dared to hurt its master. Using its still shut snout like a hammer, it jumped at the worgen, aiming the claws of its healthy leg at the broad leather clad chest. It was obvious, that it wanted to slice the man into pieces. And it would have worked, it that bastard wasn't such an agile fighter – surprising if you considered his tall build and seemingly heavy size. How could he move to fast?

Jerlis, still dazed by the blow in his stomach, wondered: Why did that mongrel try so very hard, _not_ to kill his mount? Judging by the lithe movements and speed, that worgen was a top fighter who could easily dispose some troublesome animal… yet, he didn't. Instead, he beat the raptor into submission again. Finally, and not a moment too soon for Jerlis, who hated to witness his loyal stead being treated like this, the beast sank to the ground with a heartrending whistle, thrashing weakly before laying still, only its heaving flanks indicating that it was still alive.

* * *

The worgen cursed – at least, Jerlis thought he did. Neither before and certainly not after the War, when the Scourge invaded and destroyed Quel'Thalas, did he feel the necessity to learn the human language, that became universal for all Alliance races. He did know the words for "Attack" and "Retreat", and similar simple words, but he'd never had the need nor the desire to learn that language. He had learnt Orcish, of course, and some Zandali (travelling with three trolls over several months more or less forced you to learn their tongue), and he even started with Taurahe, simply out of interest, though the pronunciation was rather difficult without a muzzle and a one-feet long tongue… Those should be enough, though; he was Horde, why should he learn Common? It didn't even sound pleasant…

Now, the worgen breathed heavily. Jerlis knew all too well, why: His raptor was no ordinary beast, it was venomous. It's shiny skin, dark with green and yellow stripes, was covered with some mild poison. He himself had to train over weeks and months till he got himself immune against it. The worgen, however, seemed affected: He stood still for a moment, his paw clawing into a tree to keep his balance. Yes, even with his gloves and long sleeves, the man wasn't protected against the raptor's poison… And yet, that Alliance dog seemed to be… prepared? Did he know about the raptors specialty beforehand? – After all the confusion and questions, even this didn't seem to be impossible at all… Who was this guy?

Tall and heavy, yes; more muscled than the usual rogue. Yellow and orange eyes, dust brown fur… The leather armor was finely made, and probably expensive. The daggers, too, indicated some wealth of their owner… but other than that, Jerlis couldn't describe his captor.

Said captor finally got over the short lived stupor inserted by the raptors poison. Glaring at the beast, he gave it another hard kick. With some more rope, he had with him, the worgen folded the raptors healthy leg, securing it with the rope to prevent it from standing and walking. Jerlis swallowed, when those glaring golden eyes fell upon him…

The expected pain didn't come, though. Instead, he was roughly dragged to some tree and bound against it. All the while, the worgen was mumbling under his breath, probably still cursing and worse – somehow, the elf was glad that he didn't exactly know, what the other was saying there. Yet, it made his situation so much more dire. Again, questions popped up in his head: Why? Where? How?

His captor had brought something to eat with him. With crossed legs, he sat with his back against another tree, the captive elf and raptor always in sight. It seemed to be some dried flesh… Jerlis sank back against the tree, suppressing a pained moan: Those ropes were too tight. He glared at his captor. – All right, the first round didn't end in his favor; well, he had to try again, then. If anything, he had no desire to see the inside of some Alliance headquarter!

However, his captor seemed to be adamant to get moving. After a pause of only a few minutes, he untied both elf and raptor, shouldering the one while pulling the other behind him, this time striding faster than before. The raptor protested weakly, but didn't dare to oppose the worgen again – not yet, that was.

Agile, lithe and strong. Those were the talents of his opponent. And his reactions were quick, too… Surely not the best premises to start a counterattack… But he had to try at least. He wouldn't be missed within the next two months, and that was a bloody long time to get tortured and interrogated. – He shuttered. This was going to be bad, and even if his captor was alone now, he'd proved already that he could deal with things by himself.

He had to wait then, wait until opportunity would show itself. And he had it rather sooner than later. The later it got, the closer they got to the Alliance headquarter… But… didn't the Tranquillien forces destroy all Alliance camps, set up by night elves, years ago? More questions than answers here – Jerlis felt his headache return.

* * *

Several hours passed. Being on high alert, the worgen crossed the Dead Scar, killing multiple Undead in the process. Every time, he would drop Jerlis to the ground, to have his hands free. The elf was strongly convinced, that the worgen simply liked dropping him like a sack of potatoes; that guy could easily defend himself with both hands tied on his back… At least, his captor seemed determined to keep any danger from him and his raptor. Except for bruises from that constant dropping, the worgen made it clear that he was persistent in keeping his prey in good shape. That didn't bode well for what he might have in store for him…

All the time, Jerlis fought his tired body. The blow on his head and the stress got to him, but he was to wound up to think straight, it seemed. Thinking and re-thinking his situation and how he got himself into it, got him nowhere. It was a riddle, and he'd always hated riddles…

For example, where were they heading to? Jerlis could make out several familiar spots. There was the Howling Ziggurat, where they were attacked by Gargoyls… nasty creatures… And through the dense mist wavering between naked trees he thought he could make out the Sanctum of the Moon. Actually, he didn't even have to see it, he could feel the chaotic energies emitting from it. So, Tranquillien hadn't been able to clean up the mess there? Lovely. Unbound arcane energies, flowing free, forming monsters… and no one in sight saying, "c'mon, let's fix this crap", instead multiple idiots saying, "why bother, we already have a functioning Sanctum". Of course, they'd never consider that a _second_ Sanctum would mean at least twist the benefit. They just find no proper idiot to send into that mess and fix it _and_ come back in one piece. No, Jerlis would never say that they should simply abandon the Ghostlands and give it up to corruption. On the contrary, he fiercely promoted Silvermoon's advances here – but somehow he missed a certain determination and unity here. He probably had an unique view on things after his long service in Kalimdor…

So, they were going westwards to the coast. As far as he knew, the Alliance had had at least one big camp there, an anchorage on a solitary island. But that had been destroyed… Yet, he couldn't exclude any reestablished spy camps… But the island was too far to the north from their position…

The night was uneventful. The worgen would dispose of them quickly by binding them in the same fashion as before. He would eat some dried flesh and take a nap. Jerlis, of course, tried anything to somehow get the bonds loose. Yet, with no results: The cutting ropes wouldn't loosen one bit, and only with some slight weight shifts and flexing of muscles, pressure could be released enough to not cut off his circulation. Also the gag, which had been secured with string around his head, wouldn't be moved. His situation was hopeless. And it got worse, the longer he tried to change anything about it. He had heard enough stories of other soldiers, who had been captured by the Alliance. In general, however, they were imprisoned right away on the battle field, and not by some nasty trap, but that didn't make his situation any better.

On the contrary. All those questions that remained, refused to make any sense to him. A letter from a friend, an old comrade, an kinsman (woman), someone, he knew, was loyal beyond question to the Horde and Silvermoon. She would never ask for help, yet wouldn't hesitate to give it. Yes, she was also fickle, and sometimes she would say things that would question not only her loyalty but her sanity as well. But, all in all, he knew her well enough that she would never ask for help – unless something so bad happened, that it would probably affect the whole Horde…

At least, those thoughts had brought him here. Maybe those Alliance scum knew about his opinion in the matter and thought her a likely lure to get him here? But still, why here? It all didn't make any sense… Maybe it was just some coincident? Maybe this worgen caught sight on him and captured him on chance? Would Seraphita come to the meeting place as expected, waiting for him?

Jerlis didn't know, and wouldn't know for the next hours in which his captor dozed on the spot, knowing that his prey wouldn't get anywhere. The next morning, the elf felt groggy, his head felt like it was filled with wooly cotton, puffy and padded; his thoughts as well were clouded. He was thirsty for some water, yet wasn't surprised when his captor wouldn't share anything of his waterskin. He was hurt everywhere; sometime during the night, he'd fallen asleep, and now several bodyparts had fallen asleep just like him. Not to mention the chill, that had crept into his very bones, clinging and freezing, he shivered. Those just added to his misery.

Just like the day before, the worgen would carry him over his shoulder, pulling the still limping raptor behind him. Jerlis had hoped, that the worgen would simply throw him over his raptor, just to be free of the burden. In that case, he was sure, he could have planed something. Now, however, he was just where he'd left yesterday: absolutely nowhere.

Just like the day before, Jerlis tried some attempt to free himself. His captor, though, was better prepared this time and Jerlis again met the worgens hart fist in his stomach. For the next hour, he was dragged rather than carried, while he tried to get his wits back. There wasn't much left – just enough to drag up his knees and give his captor a hart kick. With his foggy mind, however, he missed… After that, he was again carried over the cursing worgens shoulder. Just a little improvement in comparison to be dragged over the dirty, spiky forest ground…

Houses? – Blinking against his misty brain, Jerlis tried to take a look around. Night had fallen already, and this day the worgen hadn't taken any break in his pace, as if he couldn't wait to get to his destination. By now, Jerlis, too, hoped that this stage of his captivity would end soon… This must be Windrunner Village.

The worgen aimed for one of the ruined houses within this once flourishing high elven city. Rangers had been trained here, now it was a Scourge invested haunted place – with strangely few Scourge minions… Obviously, Tranquillien had had more success here than elsewhere… Hopefully they had more patrols in this region? – The worgen didn't bother any remaining Scourge, and they felt confident to haunt anywhere but in his proximity. Standing still for a moment, the worgen murmured something under his breath before entering one of the broken down houses.

Brightness! Golden brightness and warmth flooded his frozen form, blinding his tired eyes. His journey seemed to be over… at least it was warm here…

Someone rushed over to them.

"Gharion, I told you to be nice with him! What did you do?" The person spoke orcish? And a voice, Jerlis knew all too well…? Blinking against the light, he tried to make out the shapes surrounding him. He was lowered, not dropped, to the ground on a woven carpet, his ropes remained tight around him, but the woman, who had addressed the worgen and who seemed to be alone until very recently, carefully removed the gag.

"Sera!?"

* * *

Surprise, surprise... Heh, naah, not really ;)


	3. Chapter: A not so long story

Yes, it's taking a little more time as I would like... But then again... Was sein muss, muss sein, as the germans say ;)

* * *

**Arrangements**

Not a shred of doubt: the woman leaning over him was his friend, Seraphita. And she didn't look one bit a captive. On the contrary, she looked good, maybe a little too ashen despite her usual paleness, but otherwise healthy and well, with shiny dark hair and violet eyes.

Turning to the worgen, she just prepared to continue her angry scolding, when a chilling voice interrupted her: "If I don't get a good explanation right now, I won't guaranty for anything." Jerlis was a little surprised, that his voice was able to sound as menacing as that. His face, too, had contorted into a visage of rage and brooding devastation: His initial shock had transformed rather quickly.

"I'm pregnant!"

Now, that got him back! It explained her unhealthy looking skin… and that little belly she sported, and which he noticed just now. "Pregnant?" he echoed. A moment, he just stared at her, switching from her eyes to her belly and back. Then, unintended, his gaze fell upon the worgen, a dreadful certainty rising –

"And this is my husband, Gharion." Shifting uneasy, she added, "And if you promise not to lash at us, I'll untie you." Which was done quickly. The worgen, who now sat in a chair on the other side of the room, far away from the other male, grumbled something under his breath, earning him an angry glare from his wife.

Jerlis was placed on an old divan, some thick blankets placed over his still cold shoulders. There was just a little cooking spot with some fire; as expected, since Sera was in charge, the smells from there were mouth watering… A cup of tea was placed in his cold hands and from there warmth slowly pushed away the chill. Enough for him to let his spontaneous anger dissipate though his glare remained. "All right," he said hesitantly, taking a nip of his tea. "I'm listening."

He wasn't really listening while Sera spoke; instead he was watching both his friend and her… husband. It was an interesting story, though not too surprising. At some point, Jerlis caught himself suppressing a smirk, when Sera tried to explain why she had saved a deadly wounded enemy. Not surprising _at all_, she'd always been quite eccentric…

"Hoh, wait a second," he finally said. "You messed up with a High Executor?" This was big business, and now they were getting somewhere. Jerlis knew everything about interrogation; he'd done it several times himself. Usually, his prisoners were less talkative than his friend here, but he started to understand, what was going on, especially those things she didn't mention.

Yet, this High Executor was a tough bastard – and these two messed up with him big time, the kind that they weren't save, no matter where they'd go. And he, who prided himself to be careful and yet a brawler by heart, he was right on his way to become part of this crazzy tale. And that meant to get on the bad side of Horacio Amberton. He somehow wished his captor had just turned him in to some hidden Alliance camp. Being a prisoner of those guys suddenly sounded quite cozzy... nicer than this crap.

"Why'd you have to make enemies with _Amberton_ of all people?" he sighted, resting his forehead on his palm, not knowing if he had to cry or laugh. He still felt awfully tired.

"It wasn't something I'd planed," she mumbled grumpily, glancing sidewarts.

He made a dismissive wave. "Sera, you're twice as old as I am, so please, skip this little-girl-attitude of yours… It's offending… and disarming." Looking up at the worgen, Jerlis wondered. These two had it big with each other. In any other case he would have said "Great, guys, here's my blessing, go in peace" or something similar… But this… the worgen looked like he could handle this trouble, but an overly weakened Sera…

"And why did you two choose to come here? The Ghostlands aren't really what I'd call 'inviting', and I'm a Blood Elf…"

"That wasn't our initial plan," Sera said; impossible, but she turned a shade paler. "First, we settled in Terokkar Forest – you may remember the small Sunfire settlement in the northeast. Horacio, however, must have found out about our whereabouts. He knew about my wards for years and that I always tried to improve them… So he recruited the Arakkoa."

Jerlis' brows raised some levels. The Arakkoa? Impressive. How did Amberton have them to help him?

"They seem to know some rituals concerning arcane structures. In case of my wards, the Arakkoa managed to dig into the Arcane and with the information given by Horacio disabled them." She frowned, her hands balling into tight fists. "We… didn't expect anything like this to happen, so… we were careless. Gharion was away, hunting, and I… was sleeping.

I think it must have been the Arakkoa's spellwork, but I wasn't able to properly defend myself." Her frown got deeper, her voice shook. "I mean, I have been in worse situations, you know that, but never before did I fail like that back in Terokkar… Almost as if I wouldn't have had any powers at all." What Sera didn't tell her friend was the utter terror she'd felt in those dire moments, when she was roused from her sleep, her little house bursting with Forsaken, her initial emergency-spells failing… Countless rotten hands seizing her, her utter confusion, and that face of someone who had been a friend once…

"I guess, it was a blessing, he wasn't home," she went on, her voice trembling while she did her utmost to stem that tide of tears. "I don't know if he would have won against so many Veteran Deathguards. They certainly expected more resistance, but… I don't know; all my spells were gone." Jerlis' mood darkened. He wasn't too surprised to hear this, though, yet he didn't interrupt her.

"They easily overpowered me and… Horacio was there, too, and he... they…" She shuttered. The priest shook his head, lifting his hand to prevent her from any further description of the following events. He already had a good idea of what kind of situation unfolded itself onto his hapless friend…

The High Executor, finally successfully capturing his prey, the traitorous she-elf whose powers had left her for the moment – what a fortunous moment for Horacio Amberton… It was safe to assume that Horacio didn't mind if his men took advantage of their victim – and since she was a traitor and everything, why sparing her any disgrace? The Horde, as anyone else, was unforgiving when it came to betrayal, especially when it occurred within their own ranks…

Sera was silent for another moment, her eyes shut and her hands clenched to fists. Jerlis didn't disturb her, he had seen enough violated women to recognize them, and Sera, who didn't saw the wrongness of her own actions in the past, now had trouble where to put guild and reason. It was a normal process, yet usually the females he'd met before knew who was to blame in the first place, and it had never been them…

Taking a deep breath, Sera continued their tale, speaking fast as if to force herself to simply get this over with. "When Gharion returned, he knew we were discovered – I still don't know how Horacio found us, he didn't tell… He had brought a mage with him, who was just about to open a portal. I guess it must've been luck," her eyes switched over to her husband, welling with gratefulness. "But he managed to kill the mage. I guess, if they hadn't… entertained themselves with me, Rion wouldn't have made it in time. But as it was, Horatio was now forced to get to Shattrath on foot in order to get a new mage who could make another portal.

Meanwhile, Gharion tipped off the Fel Orcs and the Lost Ones, who attacked our compound in the forest. Horacio might have expected that, but then even the Alliance from Alleria's Stronghold joined in, and we were able to slip through. Free again, I tried to make a portal – and strange enough, it worked. The first thing I thought about was the Ghostlands, so I brought us here…"

She bit her lip, pausing again. "But something's wrong still. I can't use my magic as I was used to. It became unreliable, volatile, sometimes it is working just like it used to, but then it's… gone. I remember every spell I ever learned, but I don't have the power anymore to fulfill them. So, since a while now I have stopped using magic at all, except my wards – even if Horacio can disable them, he has to find us first. I hope he doesn't do so as fast this time…

"Gharion and I have been here since two months now, and everything went well so far… but… as I said… something is wrong still. It doesn't concern any outer enemy, it's me: I feel weak and drained, and I'm often cold despite the hearth and woolen clothes. I eat as much as I can, but it never seems to be enough to feed me as well as the child… I knew it would be like that, that I can't eat much because of the clamped space occupied by the baby, but… I haven't imagined that it would be like this…

"Sometimes I even feel the… you know…" She couldn't speak it out loud… it was too embarrassing…

Not to Jerlis, though. "The addiction," he said plainly, as if it was the most natural thing it the world. Well, to him it was, but many of his kin had their troubles with simply accepting their helplessness is this matter. – Sera flushed at that.

"I used to do without for so long…" she murmured, shifting seemingly unconsciously to Thalassian. "Even the felglow disappeared. I thought I would never feel it again…"

"That's silly," he grumbled, not bothering to switch to his native language. "Our kin have been addicted long before the Highborn came to these shores. It's safe to assume that your child, too, will be suffering from it." Jerlis heard the silent gasp from the corner. So, the worgen was listening. Not too surprising… But he didn't seem to understand Thalassian, otherwise Sera wouldn't have switched. As a priest, though, Jerlis was used to be the messenger of bad news so he went on, unmoved by his patient's distress:

"If you wish to get rid of the addiction, then you should keep in mind that it would take a couple generations to do so. Even if your child is half… worgen, human, whatever, it is still a half Blood Elf, too, and therefore this burden will be his – or hers."

He took a nip of his still hot tea, in his mind those many objections warring within him since the moment he first realized her situation. She looked frightened, and when he waved, she immediately hurried to her husband, settling in his embrace. Jerlis forced his eyes down, focusing on his tea. Should he tell them? Could he tell them? Was he in any situation to help them anyway? He would help, yes, it was hardly a question, it was what he had to do. He was a priest, a healer, his duty was his life. Even if his friend had assaulted him with this, even if she was classified as traitor, it didn't change the matter: she needed help if she wanted to survive this, and his calling didn't give him much of a choice…

But did she know of it? – Lifting his gaze, Jerlis observed his friend and the worgen. He had seen Sera often with a lover by her side in the past, he himself never being one of them, but never had she been as intimate with them as she was with this wolf… man, alright. So, she had found her own heaven, congratulations. But she was ignoring or simply oblivious to the danger she was in now, not caused by Forsaken or some hostile environment, but with the very life growing under her heart.

Looking at the lovers, Jerlis felt a rising unease. She didn't know, they both didn't. – Sighting, he resumed with staring into his cooling tea. She would die if he left. As loyal a soldier he was, he couldn't turn his back to the danger she was facing. She was already pale, and she still had another year coming. And the increased need for arcane energies to feed them both was also taking its toll over her, and then her acute lack of control over her craft… All these signs normal for a blood elven women during her pregnancy. But Sera wasn't a normal female of his kind… If left unattended by a competent healer…

_She is dying._

* * *

Let's see how long the next chapter will take...


	4. Chapter: Need a Healer!

**4. Need a Healer!**

It went without saying that he was no prisoner and that he could move around the house freely; freedom Jerlis used to take a look at his raptor. The beast hooted joyfully and tried yet failed due from numerous wounds to approach him. Soothingly patting the animal, the healer made a thorough inspection of its condition; the raptor, too, eyed its master intently, searching for injuries, sniffing for bad smells, or any other sign that he might be hurt. Jerlis himself didn't look better than his mount, truth be told. His robes were torn and dirty, his usually golden and smooth head with silken hair resembled a wild bird's nest. Not to mention those many scratches and bruises from the long trip here, being dragged and dropped over and on the forest. – The raptor didn't approve of his master appearance and so it was to no surprise when it hissed angrily at the closing newcomer.

The priest, however, didn't show the worgen any reaction. Instead he continued his work; where his hands touched or stroked, torn flesh and skin mended itself. He prided himself to be a competent healer, but healing animals was more straining than tending to other humanoids. Healing his own kin on the other hand was as easy as breathing… Giving his mount a slight squeeze, he gave his wordless command to stand down, despite the close proximity of an enemy. But the raptor was well trained and stood its ground, no matter how much it liked to give some proper payback.

"How are things?" Gharion asked after the last wound was healed.

Jerlis, finally turning around, lifted his brow. From this fellow he expected a little more agitation, especially after what he'd just heard. This worgen really was an uncommon example of self restrain, it seemed…

"Bad," he answered shortly. Gazing around, he hoped to find some shelter for his beast, yet finding none. Turning back at the other… man, he eyed him suspiciously. "So why the whole setup and the ambush? She must have told you enough about me to know that I wouldn't just turn you down – even if that would be logical…"

Gharion shrugged. "She described you quite well," he said. "Also that you are the most likely person to help us… her, and who wouldn't just sell us out to Horacio. But aside from that, you are a soldier of the Horde."

_A soldier of the Horde_. Jerlis shook his head, silently laughing. Yes, he saw it now: The moment, the worgen would have approached him, he wouldn't have cared for any word or explanation; he would have attacked him on sight. No questions asked. – Folding his arms, hands placed on his shoulders, Jerlis murmured a low incantation, a plea to the Holy Light. Unlike when he'd healed his raptor, the Light infused his body like a tide, mending all those newly inflicted injuries. He still felt drained and tired, but at least he felt whole again, and well. And ready to face this disaster his friend had dragged him into. Friends, if they weren't necessary for proper teamwork, Jerlis sometimes liked the idea of tossing them into an active volcano…

"You know it already, don't you?" he retorted, observing the furry man, noticing that slight twitch of his left ear. "I bed, it was you who said that a healer would improve things for her…"

This thought just occurred to him the moment the worgen asked that question, sounding tense and distressed under his flawless neutral expression. Sera would have never asked for help, but her husband, as the partly beast he was, had better, sharper, senses than her, he must have sensed something about her condition… and it's direness.

Gharion shrugged. "So you have me beat – happy?"

"No." Of course he was not happy. Jerlis was about get wound up in some crazy story that would put him in line of some snatchers and head hunters searching for deserters and, more troublesome, on the wrong side with Horacio Amberton! "Why me? Don't you have any friends, who'd come all the way here?"

The worgen paused a moment, considering the other mans annoyance. "I only convinced her, that a healer would ensure her safety and the baby's; she rather quickly settled on you." Another pause. "Are you sure that the little one will be some… mana leach?" His voice shook an idea.

Jerlis sighted. "If you want to call it that, than yes, your child is gonna be… a mana leach." Regarding the worgen sternly, he went on. "But why should that be of any trouble? Sera's condition in that matter is no different from that of countless other blood elf women who are pregnant this very moment. We are what we are; it's stupid to marginalize it. Maybe the addiction will fade over time, but that'll take centuries, generations. Today, we have to accept it: _you_ have to accept the fact that your son or daughter is going to be born as a mana leach – your words of choice, by the way, not mine."

Gharion leaned against a rock, pondering in silence. Jerlis' raptor still was on edge, eying that Alliance beast tensely. The blood elf continued observing the worgen from a safe distance, too. The longer he looked at him, the more human he seemed to be under all that fur…

"You said, that her condition doesn't come from this… addiction-thing," Gharion finally started again. "What's wrong then? Has her magical… imperfection anything to do with it? That her spells became unbalanced?"

Jerlis shook his head. "No, those symptoms are quite normal, too. Many other women of our kin face this problem that their magic is unreliable during their pregnancy. It has something to do with the Sunwell.

"You see, while it was at full strength previous to the Third War, neither our females nor the males realized anything of an addiction. So the possibility that our children were affected by our ancestor's folly was also unknown to us. All that occurred after the Sunwell was destroyed. This is one of the reasons why our kin doesn't procreate as easily as, for example, humans: it's a very straining process for the mothers. And since our children quite naturally thirst for arcane energies, they feed from their mothers – who have to get extra sources for themselves _and_ their unborn young. All of this is quite natural. However, as I said, when the Sunwell was destroyed we've lost our constant mana source and have to get the same amount, or at least some of it, from alternative sources. Fel energy for one.

"Of course, many other races don't like the idea, but then again, we don't have much of a choice in the matter."

Silence stretched between the two men. "So, why is she… dying then?" the worgen grumbled. "I even talk to _you_, after all…" The last words indicating, that he didn't believed it himself…

Jerlis' eyes closed to glowing slits. "How very charming," he noted haughtily. He made a dismissive wave. "Long story, and I'm not even sure about half of it. It's an uncommon… illness, and since I'm no witchdoctor, I can't – "

"Witchdoctor?" Sera interrupted. "What does a witchdoctor has to do with this?"

Sneaky little… yes, her parents must have taught her well, rangers as they were.

"Why are you here?" the worgen asked startled, hurrying to his wife. Worry pushing away his _fear-me-I'm-ominous_-aura.

"You both left and I didn't hear any argument or fight, so I went looking."

Very sneaky if not even her wolf had noticed anything… Jerlis gave his raptor a nod to the forest, dismissing the beast from its savage vigil so it could hunt down some critters. Looking back at him quite puzzled, the raptor was hesitant before trotting on healthy legs to the towering trees – not sparing a warning hiss in the direction of the worgen. Said worgen however didn't regard the beast in any way, his attention fully occupied by the wraithlike creature that once had been a powerful mage and who now was his wife.

Jerlis frowned. He hadn't really dug into the matter… His friend, the former witchdoctor, however had been sure about it the moment he had seen the mage coincidently a few years ago in Orgrimmar. Back then, Jerlis had already been stationed in Kalimdor for a couple of years, and Tri'khai had urged him to do some investigation concerning that dark haired mage. As a matter of fact it was how the two of them met.

As soldier and field priest of the Horde, Jerlis was forced to travel a lot from one camp to the next, from one battle to the other. It was a good life. And more than once did he met that strange solitary mage. They became friends, there was some flirting on occasion, and they both came along just fine – both aware of the fact that the other wouldn't know if one of them would die some day. Jerlis had often envied her spirit and thirst for knowledge; Sera on the other hand admired the blond male for his dedication concerning his calling, even if he more than once pointed out that it was not by initial choice.

He sighted. Gharion lifted his wife and went back into the house, Jerlis following. The night went by uneventful. Sera was laid to rest, while the priest spoke a prayer that would strengthen her and the child. He felt relief wash over him, when her skin regained some color and her breath became stronger. The same relief was radiated from the worgen, who never left her side. It must have been pure horror for the wolf man to leave his fragile wife for several days to fetch a stranger. No wonder then, that Gharion hadn't bothered himself with pleasantries… even if Jerlis still felt a little sore from the previous treatment.

Sera was a silent sleeper, Gharion, after shedding his armor, settled next to her, his weapons close by. Their bedroom was in the upper floor, a spiral walk leading back down again. Jerlis, left on his own, searched for some blankets to make his bed on one of the divans in the ground floor. Next to the hearth were a china tub and jug with clear water. Not what he's wish for but enough to fulfill his initial needs. Shedding his rugged robes, he thoroughly washed himself. Pity there was no soap… On the other hand, he'd had worse in the past. Life in the Horde's army wasn't a clean matter. Rummaging in his pack, he put on fresh underwear before settling in his bed. His mind though resisted any attempt to calm down.

Two months… Only two months. They had to find alternatives if they didn't want the area to swarm with snatchers… and Horacios goons.

* * *

The next morning started with visiting his patient, and strengthening her with a simple call to the Light. Not knowing that holy magic was at work here, one would've never guessed that Sera's condition was worse than the day before. She was withering away right before their eyes, and she herself stubbornly ignored it.

Jerlis, while putting on his clothes, half alarmed, half amused watched his hosts during their daily routines. Sera insisted on doing as much as she could, and she wanted to do everything, as usual, while her husband tried to take over as many duties in order to relieve her – with only minor progress.

After only a few hours during breakfast, of course made and served by Sera, Jerlis shook his head uncomprehending. No wonder she looked so ghostly if she didn't grant herself any rest…

It was around noon, when Jerlis finally had to side with his initial enemy. Gharion had left to do some hunting; he didn't like the idea of leaving his wife so soon with a stranger but he also knew that she needed proper food since they couldn't feed of her conjured meals anymore. The worgen had to steal supplies from Tranquillien sometimes, and he had to ensure that the quartermaster didn't notice his occasional freeloading.

"I know what you're going to say," Sera said after passing Jerlis a mug of tea. "That I have to go easy on me, that I have to rest more…"

Jerlis clicked with his tongue, dismissing her invalid objection. "You're pregnant, Sera," he said, vocalizing every word intently. "You are disabled, you are weak, and (and you won't like it) you are useless right now. And the more you object to that, the more damage you do to yourself and the baby.

"Sure, you have every right to pride yourself on your achievements in the past, but those won't help you to survive this!"

With every word, she'd shrunk a little more. She swallowed. "So… it's really that bad with me?" she asked tiny voiced.

"Worse," he sighted. "I may not like him and I'm gonna take advantage of the first chance I get for some payback, but your… husband is right: You need medical attention on a daily basis. I guess you made some potions already?" She nodded. "Good, go on with that. But it's not enough. This… illness of yours is taking advantage of your weakened state, but potions alone won't help."

He understood her resistance. She was used to be independent from everything and anything, there hadn't been anything she couldn't deal with herself with some magic and potions and wit. And now, while living through a condition perfectly natural, she found herself to be dependant not only from her beloved but also from the help of a healer. Jerlis wouldn't be surprised if she never, ever in her life required the assistance of a healer, no matter if he was a priest, a shaman or a druid…

"Will you stay then?" she asked hopefully. "And… well, help me, us, here?"

And now they reached the problematic topic. "I'm sorry, Sera," he said regretfully, "but I can't stay here much longer. I'm expected back in Ashenvale in two months." He took a deep breath. "You're gonna need another healer."

She bit her lip. Not only did she have to rely on others for help, now she also had to ask for it from a stranger? "And, you couldn't just… you know…"

"No," he said firmly. "I can't stay away longer. Neither I nor the two of you could want head hunters roaming through the Ghostlands. The officials in Tranquillien know, I came through there, and my superiors will know in no time. I could stretch it for another month, given the time I need for traveling, but even that won't do as an excuse for being late."

"But who else but you would come here into the wilderness and risk the Horacio's wrath?" she asked almost desperate.

Jerlis snorted. "If I'd known beforehand that this would include just that, trust me, I wouldn't have come here," he grumbled truthfully. Feeling sorry already for his rudeness, he patted her shoulder – it felt so incredibly bony under his touch. She'd lost some weight since he'd last seen her, and she'd always been thin and delicate – all due that illness, of which she wasn't even wholly aware of…

"A healer of the Alliance wouldn't bother about Horacio," he said comforting. "And the Ghostlands aren't too remote that none of them would come here. Think of the Argent Crusade south of here, maybe one of them would help…"

"We thought about it," she said heavily. "But we, I, didn't want to bother them. They are already on difficult terms with Sylvanas and Hellscream. Asking them to help me would put them in the line of fire."

"The Crusade is committed to help where it's needed," he retorted. "It was wise of you to come here where the influence of the Sunwell is at least close, and I don't think that a healer or priest of the Crusade would refuse your request…"

"I thought about going to Quel'Danas," she whispered. "Under the protection of the Shattered Sun Offensive we would both be safe. But I don't dare to make a portal now… and on Quel'Danas they still fight corrupted forces – not to mention that Horacio would find us there immediately. His Deathstalkers would be upon us in no time…"

Jerlis nodded. "Yeah, Quel'Danas may be more or less neutral ground, but both Horde and Alliance have their spies there. You guys wouldn't stay there undetected for long… and assassins are trained to kill where they are not seen."

Sera swallowed hard. Despite everything, she still refused to realize just how dire her situation was. She was almost like a sitting duck, ready to be shot by the first hunter coming by – and with an agitated Horacio, those were many hunters around.

"Maybe… maybe it's saver to ask someone of the Crusade to help us," she finally said.

"Try the Alliance," Jerlis returned, taking a nip of his tea. "Your child is half Gilnean, too, and the Alliance is less denying towards half breads as our kin is… even though things have changed here a great deal…"

"That so?"

"Sure. Think of all those women, who got captured and raped by the enemy." She flinched upon hearing his words. "There are already some children in the Orphanages of Orgrimmar and Thunderbluff who are half breads. Good thing, no non-elf notices the difference. Your child wouldn't really be any different from them and the Horde needs new recruits, so High Command wouldn't really take a closer look..."

"I don't want my baby to become cannon fodder to Garrosh' war machine," she said aggressively.

"I never said it should," Jerlis answered calmly. "I just mean that it's already common to see half bread children running around. – Alas, you're far from those troubles right now. I think that no Alliance healer would refuse to help you – the only trouble I see is how they'd come here. I advise you to not go any more south – the closer you are to the Sunwell, weakened or not, the better. It would be even wise if you would find some shelter in Eversong rather than here, but there it's more likely they would discover you…" He pondered a moment. "On the other hand, sometimes the best hideout is the one everyone can see. I just fear that your husband will have to keep a very, _very_ low profile there…"

"I would, _could_ never leave Gharion," she burst. "Not even temporarily! It's bad enough that he has to leave for hunting…"

"All right, all right," he sighted. "We still have some time left…" But not enough. He could keep her alive while he was here, and under his watchful eye he would make sure she wouldn't do any more than totally necessary. But after these two months, they had to get themselves a new healer. And he had to prepare for some research and investigation. Hopefully he could contact Tri'khai and ask him about this curse. As far as he knew, it couldn't be removed without killing the victim, Sera in this case. Curses gained strength over time, and this one was more than six hundred years old! But then again, those Amani trolls who created the curse hadn't intended her to survive the first weeks after she was born – that was how the curse worked.

Yet, now she was weakened by her pregnancy and the curse, that had been dormant all those years, became stronger again, turning her, who was _born dead_, dead again. – The priest sighted. He should have asked his friend, the former witchdoctor, for more information back than…

* * *

I thought, I should say say something... I forgot. Messy week, this one.


	5. Chapter: Plans and such

The writing process is a funny thing... Sometimes you don't get a single sentence down in weeks, and then you write 10-20 pages down within few hours.

Well, don't mind me - the more the better, and the further the story gets. Seems I hit some current or so... at least I have some more ideas for this, so its fine by me :)

Enjoy!

* * *

**5. Plans and such**

Gharion returned the next day after Jerlis' and Sera's conversation after nightfall. The worgen was openly relieved that his wife looked rather well, despite the, to him, obvious smell of ill sweetness and foreboding death. However, Jerlis' attentions had brought back some color to her cheeks and she moved around with more strength than before. Some of the ice between the men seemed to melt when Gharion, though he still held some antipathy to other blood elves, threw the priest a glance of gratitude.

During these two days, Jerlis and Sera had been busy making plans – plans as far as possible without the worgen's input. Jerlis was still pondering about the curse. He hadn't talked with her about it, thinking that he didn't know enough about the matter, and that she would be too restless if she only knew only some crumbs of the whole. And then again, if she hadn't found out till now, Jerlis didn't feel the need to tell her.

So he just told her it was this illness, she'd suffered from when she was a baby herself – he knew about that, because she told him some years back… when Tri'khai urged him to approach her and find out if she had been ill as a newborn. It had taken some ales and heavy flirting to get her talkative and in the end, Jerlis had to carry her to her room in an inn – she'd already been unconscious by then due to the alcohol. Later after sharing his intelligence with Tri'khai, the troll just nodded, openly satisfied that he had been right about her. It took Jerlis some thorough persuasion until his friend finally shared some about this curse called _The Death Born_, and it had freaked the hell out him. He'd thought that it was a blessing that this curse required a lot of preparation and sacrifices before applied to a totally unaware victim… If it didn't, than Jerlis didn't have any doubt that the High Elves would've been extinct generations ago!

"So… Gharion," Jerlis started that evening while they ate some crunchy spider flesh. "How about it? Do you have any friends who happen to be competent healers?" He wanted to get this over with fast. The sooner they got one of the worgen's Alliance friends here, the sooner Jerlis could return to Ashenvale and on his way to find Tri'khai…

Gharion threw him a glare before answering. "I can think of at least two, who could be willing to help us, given the fact that Phin is from the Horde and we in deep Horde territory. Trouble is, from what I know so far, they are both currently in Kalimdor. But…" he silenced. Jerlis'd noticed that the worgen liked to make these breaks. The guy knew what he wanted to say already, yet he always made these artificial pauses to let his previous words sink in. Jerlis had witnessed those habits before on several men and women – and mostly they tried to make others do something they wouldn't usually do on a voluntary basis…

"I also want to contact some others. I can keep this area secure by myself, but I don't want to leave you for several days in a row." He looked into his wife's eyes, who gave him a loving smile in return.

Jerlis was pleased with this. "The more the merrier," he nodded. "When do you think they can get here?" That was important to know…

"That depends… I would have to travel south to Light's Hope Chapel. From there, I can send a message to my friends that they are to meet me there…" His face contorted into a grim visage. "Downside, I'd be away for several weeks." Again, he looked at his wife, who swallowed uneasy but didn't object.

"How long do you think that'll take?" Jerlis asked, a frown on his forehead.

"Don't know for sure," the worgen sighted. "It depends on how fast the messenger is. Hopefully, they can use the service of a mage and travel via portal, but I don't want to count on it. In any case I'd like to give it at least a month, give or take a week – likely more, though."

That frown above his eyes grew deeper. A month, very probably more… It was still within his schedule, but it would deprive him of the time he wanted to spend not only to report back to his superiors, and somehow talk them into letting him go on some investigation trip, but also to start his search for Tri'khai. That troll was a sneaky bastard, in more than one way (Jerlis knew everything about that…), and even if he was no Horde soldier, he was rarely staying in one place for a longer term… Jerlis shuttered at the thought of what he'd probably have to do if he wanted to ask a favor from _that_ guy of all people…

"And you think they won't mind helping a member or the Horde?" he asked instead.

"Already considered that," Gharion answered. "Maatha is a shaman with close ties to the Earthen Ring. She had worked with their Horde members in the past, and Talosee is of the Cenarion Circle. They both might not like blood elves in particular, but I'm certain that they wouldn't turn us down if I asked them."

Maatha, that sounded dreanei. And Talosee could only be a night elf. Now that could be funny… Two Alliance do-gooders under one roof with a blood elf. He would have laughed if it wasn't so serious a matter…

"Who else do you have in mind as a guard?"

"There is a warrior from Darnassus, who might be willing," Gharion said. Again he spoke slowly, though it seemed this time, he wanted to pursue himself. "Then there is a warlock from Stormwind… I'd like to contact them both, too…"

"Do you know them well?" Sera asked, cuddling at her husband's shoulder under a woolen blanket.

"I met them after the evacuation of Gilneas some years ago," he answered. "I traveled Kalimdor and the southern half of the Eastern Kingdoms with them before returning home. They are trustworthy and even if they won't help, they wouldn't sell us out to anyone."

That made things a lot easier… "And when do you plan to leave us?"

"I'm not very familiar with these parts," the worgen admitted. "But I think it'll take half a week to get to Light's Hope. From there it should be easy to rent a room at the inn. And if I make myself useful I can save and even earn some gold. All in all I think at the very least four, up to six, seven weeks."

Jerlis sighted. He'd hoped it would be faster… "Then we have to do with what time we have," he murmured. He could give Gharion a letter to post in Light's Hope. The Argent Crusade was a neutral faction, posting a letter to a Horde town or Alliance was easily done there… But the postman would probably get suspicious if a worgen would have a letter addressed to a member of the Horde. No, better to wait things out until these two months were over. Then he could start his own investigations concerning the curse. It would be bad if it turned out that Sera's unborn would end up inheriting that blasted thing… and be a _death born_. And there still was the possibility that Sera's body would simply suffer a breakdown under strain, even with a healer's attention… given the hope that these Alliance girls really turned up to help. And as long as Gharion was away, he, Jerlis, was bound to this house; he couldn't leave Sera alone for a longer term.

If he had a say in this, Jerlis would send her to Sunstrider Isle in the north. Almost every woman was up there in the last months of their pregnancy; Sera just had to absorb some fel energy to regain the green glow in her eyes. She could even cut and color her hair; that would make her almost unrecognizable for any spy… And Sunstrider Isle was close enough to Silvermoon to be under the capitals direct protection, yet also remote enough to hide someone. _The best hideouts are those visible to everybody: be invisible by being what people expect to see._

Jerlis frowned. Sera had developed some unhealthy pride. If she wanted to stay hidden from Horacio, she had to make some sacrifices and return to look again like a normal blood elf. He would make sure to organize some demonic energy sources in near future.

* * *

The next morning was busy. Gharion, though reluctant to leave his wife again so soon, also knew that it was better to get this over with fast. He was aware of the potential dangers that would occur, if Jerlis wouldn't return to duty on time. The Horde was unforgiving not only towards traitors, but also to deserters. Headhunters would be on the priest's heals within days, and they'd easily track him all the way to Tranquillien. And since there was a prize on these deserter's heads, they would turn over every rock and stone of the Ghostlands twice until they found their target – or its corpse.

No, best to get more reliable friends here – or at least friends who had no bonds to any of the two faction's organizations. Truth be told, Gharion did not downright distrust the priest (not anymore that was), but still the danger that came with him being here prevented the worgen from relaxing.

The priest in question was outside, tending to his raptor. The beast had been close to the house, even while it was out hunting. It was smart enough to hunt and bring some of its booty back to its master. This would turn out a blessing for the coming weeks when Jerlis and Sera would be on their own. He sometimes considered leaving her for a few days to buy supplies in the Farstrider Enclave in the north east. Sure, Tranquillien was closer but Jerlis preferred not to have any more contact with the Forsaken stationed there. Just a week ago, he didn't care, but, alas, things changed. That was the cause of this new world after the War: things changed, and rapidly so. Jerlis didn't approve of that at all.

So the Enclave would be a saver option. And they were used to adventures visiting them for a day or two before leaving again. They wouldn't give him another thought if he would turn up, buy some food and leave again…

Gharion left by midday. Just a pack and his armor and weapons. Jerlis left him and Sera alone for their farewells before he promised the worgen to take good care of his wife. And just like that the wolfman disappeared between the high trees.

* * *

The following days, Jerlis developed into a househusband. Every morning he would make sure to be as quiet as possible, getting the booty his raptor had brought sometime in the early morning hours, and trying to make something tasty out of them. He would clean himself and get dressed, do some cleaning and aeration before waking Sera. First, there was a morning blessing for her, then some breakfast with strong potion. Only one per day, they had to save up some of the potions for emergencies, just in case…

In the beginning, Sera'd tried to do some work, but Jerlis send her right back into bed and wouldn't allow her to move a finger. First she tried to bargain with him that she'd certainly was a better cook than him; however, she was to be disappointed there when he proved to her to be at least a competent cook himself. She begrudgingly agreed after a while and dropped the subject.

Boredom turned out to be an equally difficult matter, so Jerlis, who had to go outside searching for eatable mushrooms and other food, took her with him sometimes, always obligating his mount to protect the fragile woman. Those walks turned out a benefit for her condition, and at some point he started to wonder that the two of them had never talked as long and often as they did now. When he pointed that out, Sera pondered, then laughed.

He also searched some of the other houses, salvaging whatever he could get his hands on, like some torn pages and even an old harp. The instrument was in bad shape, but it didn't take more than a few days to get it back in tune again, so it was worth it when he played an old tune in the evening hours.

While he busied himself with some music, Sera tried to decipher some of the pages he brought, reading some of them aloud while he was doing his daily duties, mostly cleaning the house. If she wasn't reading, she was relieved when they could talk, which they did for hours.

After two weeks however, he took a look at their supplies. Some meat and the ever present mushrooms, some herbs and lettuce leafs. Usually enough to feed a battalion of soldiers. However, Sera was no soldier and her being locked down and due to his healings in quite a good shape, didn't really approve his cause of action here and she became grumpy and annoyed betimes.

And beside the ever same meals, which got boring no matter how varied he would make the spices, he had to get to know more about the goings-on outside the Ghostlands. And Farstrider Enclave was the safest place to get to hear some news. Maybe he could get to know something about uncommon Forsaken movement within the region and beyond…

* * *

Sera, as annoyed she was from her forced idleness, was anything but positive of his decision to leave her for at least five days.

"He will stay with you," Jerlis said calmly, referring to his raptor. "And remember? Gharion left you for some days in a row before. And this time you have a little company…"

She reached to pat the beast, yet thought better of it. "But what about the illness?" she asked. "I mean, it wouldn't do if you return and I'd be dead." She tried to be funny… but the wetness of her eyes and her trembling lips didn't back her attempt. She was scared. And she felt bereft since Gharion left. And now Jerlis, too, would leave her here in this gloomy, unfriendly forest with nothing but a poisonous raptor as company…

Jerlis almost changed his mind. Almost. Pulling her into a tender embrace, he stroked her shaking back. "Don't let my stupid talk take away your spirit," he whispered in Thalassian. "You and I are both stronger than you realize. You have fought this illness for centuries and you will do so for many more." More cheery, he added: "Don't get too used to my absence, though; before you know it, I'll be back again."

She laughed mirthlessly, not really believing in his words, yet gaining back some of her old confidence and stubbornness. And he wouldn't have been Jerlis, if he wouldn't have an ace up his sleeve. Before leaving, he created a little fountain in the middle of the house, made of pure Light. "You just need to touch it," he explained. "You are an alchemist yourself so you can decide when you need its power."

In the door, he turned around, watching her as she stood quite lost in her house, tiny and pale. You never would have guessed that this elven female used to be one of the few High Arcanists of Silvermoon… Sighting, he gave her a little kiss on the forehead. "You are a blood elf," he said, again in their native tongue. "Remember that."

With that, he turned and left. A last check on his raptor and like Gharion, Jerlis, too, disappeared between the dark trees, leaving Windrunner Village behind.

* * *

Awwww... yeah, home alone.


	6. Chapter: New News

Guys, you should really have more faith in me: even I believe in some cuddly "happily ever after" and what not. Nobody is going to die – not yet, that is :P Maybe later… if I get pissed or so, who knows…

Anyway, enjoy the next part. Chapter 7 isn't finished but that won't take too long…

* * *

**6. New News**

He was a priest, yes; he was a blood elf, true. But if you are in the Horde army you learned a thing or two about how far you can push your body. Jerlis'd learned that the hard way. In the beginning of his military carrier, as a "grunt", he wasn't allowed to have his own mount and was forced to march alongside his comrades. Or to run, often for hours, with his weapon ready and his pack on his back.

He'd hated those days, yet today he was thankful for them. His pack was rather light now and dressed not in his robes but in a simple tunic and trousers with boots, he ran swiftly over the forest ground, his feed barely touching the ground. Even though the local wildlife was hostile towards the agile runner, he was able to avoid the worst of it. Except in the Dead Scar which he reached the following day. The undead swarming the area sensed the Holy Light imbedded within him, and were drawn to him like moths to a candles flame.

Jerlis didn't feel much when he struck them down. They were hollow reminders, not even shades of their former lives, and it was impossible to say if the risen before him had been human or elf in life.

Beyond the scar, he made camp for the second time. Eating some dried meat, drinking from his water skin before wounding himself into a sturdy blanked. This was anything but comfortable, yet the spot was dry and protected, and he would warm and clean himself up at the Enclave the next day.

If you lived a life in the army, you never really slept. At night, while not on guard duty, you were dozing mostly, always on edge in case of an attack or a sudden breakup. Jerlis was used to the abrupt changes of that life and after many years of service within the Horde, and before that with the Farstriders, he could easily switch between that constant being-on-edge and a more relaxed pace whenever he was out of duty.

During his run through the hostile forest and its aggressive beasts, he had switched back to his soldier-self. Not allowing himself any real rest, running, just running. True, since he'd made quite the carrier within the Horde's ranks, he usually rode on a mount instead of running with the foot soldiers but good thing he hadn't lost his endurance.

A short break again around midday, when he reached the Sanctum or the Sun. His first intention had been to stay here. But unfortunately this Sanctum was beyond remote. Most travelers came through Tranquillien or the Farstrider Enclave, and aside from some stoically looking guards and magisters, the Sanctum of the Sun was of little to no interest to any non-government visitor. And usually, people didn't come here to celebrate their holidays…

So it was to no surprise, when his kinsmen couldn't share any news about the outside world. A few years ago, this had been the place for adventurers to get powerful weapons against the Scourge, but since the Fall of the Lichking and the slow withdrawal of his undead forces, even here in the Ghostlands, those weapons weren't as needed anymore as they had been and the Sanctum had lost its appeal. As for Jerlis, this place had never been attractive in any way…

He also didn't stay long and was on his way again after a few hours. He wouldn't make it to the Enclave before nightfall, but he'd already included that. Again rising at dawn, Jerlis was pleased when he saw the spires of Farstrider Enclave coming into view before noon. He'd been faster than he'd anticipated… _Puny elf, my ass._ He chuckled. Not any more, he wasn't.

The guards gave him a short greeting, which he returned in kind before entering. The Enclave was, as was the case with most blood elven architecture, a single building with high spires and countless wings for its many inhabitants. In general, those were blood elves, but Jerlis knew of a very specific man whom he hoped to find here.

At first, he welcomed the warmth of a large open fireplace in the center of the Enclave. Running and sleeping on a cold forest ground was "fun", but he probably stayed a pamper elf in his gut… or maybe he just preferred warmth over cold. – At first sight, there was no single non-elf present, though not all of them wore the colors of the Farstriders either. Adventurers. Good, those guys practically leaked information – usually… if he was lucky…

Approaching the innkeeper, he put on his friendly yet stoic smile.

"Greetings, traveler," she said, copying his smile. "What brings you here?"

"May the Great Sun be with you," he greeted. "I'm looking for a single room, just a few hours."

"How sad," she sighted. "There are not many newcomers who stay longer than a day or two." She observed him with a keen eye. His unkempt hair, worn clothes, dirty boots. "I take it you want to take a bath and some refreshments?"

He nodded, non faked relieve washing over him. "That sound's marvelous. But I have to restock my supplies before traveling back south," he said.

"You are lucky," she passed him a key. "We just got some new shipments the other day. Take the left spiral upstairs, second spire, forth story. The water will be there, and you can clean your clothes; the hearth will dry them in no time."

He expressed his gratitude, then made his way to his room. Walking slowly, his ears perked in every direction, grasping parts of conversations on his way. Greeting on occasion, his eyes searched for the most likely target to get his information. First, he needed to take care to himself, though. He'd been worse, for example when Gharion had kidnapped him, but even without torn clothes, he was still dirty from the occasional fights on his way here, not to mention sweaty and creased.

Finally in his room he was pleased to notice, that there was indeed warm water waiting for him in a bath tub. With soap on the side. Perfect. Cleaning himself and his clothes was done fast enough and for another few minutes he relished in this hedonistic pleasure, leaning back with his wet hair plastered on his head.

Sighting, Jerlis got out of the tub, placing his dripping wet clothes over the magical blue flames of the hearth – they would dry them up in no time while he toweled himself, making plans for how to proceed. As far as he remembered, there was a Forsaken apothecary stationed here. That dude was an expert with poisons, who had some special blends for the local Amani trolls. He might have some news about the Undercity. Then, of course, Captain Helios, the Commander of the Farstriders in the Ghostlands. All those travelers currently residing here could be reliable, too. Yet, he had to be quick about it… Before nightfall, he had to be on his way again… The longer he'd stay here, the greater the risks to alert the attention of some spy… Not to mention that a sickly Sera was waiting in that enchanted house of hers, with only a raptor to keep her company.

Dressed and ready, he began his descent. It was around supper now, the ground level was swarming with elves, clean and proper elves. Jerlis smirked. Get just as much orcs in a space like this and you'd wish you'd lose your nose. However, another advantage of the army was that you simply got used to it – given time, of course. Only trouble was if you forgot your own hygiene and got home for visiting. He remembered traveling Silvermoon after his first year in Kalimdor, being just promoted. It took a while for him to realize that other elves hadn't developed his resistance concerning his nose… At least he'd started to take good care of himself, which became easier the higher he got within the Hordes rankings…

* * *

Venustus. Under different circumstances, Jerlis was sure, he and the Forsaken would get along just fine. Downside, the poisonmaster was totally unaware of anything concerning the Undercity, not to mention the schemes of some High Executor – Jerlis knew better than to mention Horacio's name.

After two hours of time wasting, Jerlis was about to simply give up. Loads of information, yet nothing remotely was he was looking for. As he's feared, the Ghostlands, though vital to his people, was too isolated a place, too secluded, to draw the attention from travelers from beyond Quel'Thalas. The best a warlock came around with, was some rumor concerning a big battle in Gilneas, which didn't turn into the Hordes favor. _Tell me about it_, Jerlis'd thought, since he'd heard that story in all its "glory" just a few days before, and with much more detail to it.

At least he got his supplies. Sadly he couldn't take much more with him but even if his pack was enchanted to fathom more than you would guess from the look of it, at some point it simply reached its limit. At least he and Sera would do for another few weeks till that wolf guy and his friends would return. After that, he would be on his merry way.

Well, not really. After that, the real work would just start. – He frowned, deep in thought. At some point he asked himself why was doing this, going through all this trouble for a girl, woman, he barely knew and whom he'd seldom met in the past. They were kindred spirits, yes, but other than that…

He already knew, though. The time between the end of the Third War and them joining the Horde had been tough. As a priest he was ordered to the healers to make sure the survivors wouldn't perish. However, it had been the expectant mothers who caused the most trouble. One by one they were withering and died, and with them their unborn children. It had taken them quite a while until they discovered the connection with the females strain and their peoples addiction.

Jerlis now remembered some of those women who had withered and died under his very hands. He remembered the horror of so many dead right after they'd faced their races almost-extinction – and now they seemed to be unable to give birth to new life? Back then, he made a vow, to never again allow a mother and her child to die. And he'd fulfilled it, even when he met that sentinel last year in Ashenvale…

Shuttering by the thought, he shouldered his pack. He couldn't leave Sera behind just like that. Even if her child would be a half-beast like it's father, even if he didn't approve her choice of a husband, it didn't matter –

"Why, Jerlis! Did you lose a bet or why are you here?"

He was just about to leave the Enclave when his eyes fell on the speaker. His heart sank. Oh, bummer…

"Hey, Bay. Wassup?" he greeted back, forcing his features into a relaxed smile; it wouldn't do if this guy of all people would see him in distress… Ardeth Bay, youngest Champion of the Banshee Queen. Somewhere on his way, his luck must've gotten lost… Though the Forsaken looked rather casual in his present attire…

"Nothing big," the Forsaken returned, the saddle and reigns of his stead thrown over his plated shoulder. "Actually, I'm just passing through on my way north."

"To do what?" Keep it casual. No trouble with small talk – _yet_.

"My supervisor of the Crusade told me to get some herb from the Ghostlands. Those Apothecaries in Tranquillien said, I'll find it here."

Jerlis' listened up. "You rejoined the Argent Crusade? Congratulations."

Ardeth Bay gave a slight smile, half concealed by those crossed leather stripes nailed to his head. "I thought it best to give it another try," he said. "Valkyrs and brain washed Deathknights? Nah, not my style."

Jerlis knew the story of this one. In life, Ardeth had been a commendable warrior of the Alliance, who found death at young age during the Northrend campaign. He'd tried to get part of the Argent Crusade, and the very day of his initiation, he died. He was buried by his Crusade comrades – only to be dug out again by the servants of the Banshee Queen and to be reanimated.

"Talking about unexpected events, huh?" Jerlis had a hard time to not show his relief. Bay having returned to the Crusade, that meant that he had broken up, at least partly, his allegiance with the Undercity. And he talked about a supervisor of the Crusade who made him do lowly work for them. And there was no indication so far that Horacio had any clue why he, Jerlis, was here…

Hearing the elf's words, Bay's brows knitted – at least one would think that given the movement of the leather strips between his glimmering eyes. "Andoral had been enough for me…" he snarled. Jerlis had heard shreds of what had happened down there… and it was no bedtime story.

"Let's take a seat, shall we?" he suggested, turning half back into the Enclave. Bay nodded and both men returned inside. Inside, Bay first went to the innkeeper to rent a room and ask about the local herbologist, while Jerlis settled somewhere in a corner, far away to not be heard by the other guests, yet not too remote to cause any notice.

"What did Fordring say when you came back to rejoin the Crusade?" he asked when Ardeth was settled opposite of him. A Barmaid came by with two pints of ale, placing them before the two males.

The Forsaken shook his head, after she left. "He wasn't all too happy," he said, taking a large gulp of the brew. "He was told about my part concerning the battle of Andoral. I was not part of the official forces there, but given my efforts to win that battle for… _our Queen_" – he spat – "it took some convincing till Fordring finally had reason to believe that I didn't want anything to do with that stuff anymore." Another swallow of ale. "Never again."

For a Forsaken, Bay could get rather passionate betimes – maybe because he was still of the younger generation… "What did Sylvanas say about it?" Jerlis asked. _Keep it casual_. "After all, you were declared as he newest champion…"

A mirthless chuckle. "She just said that our people would prevail, and that I would change my mind eventually."

Jerlis raised a brow. "Sounds like a thread, if you ask me…"

Again that chuckle. "It's the Banshee Queen we're talking about," Ardeth said, yet that smirk on his leather nailed features held no mirth. "She doesn't make threads. She makes them come true."

"Good point…" Jerlis, too, busied himself with his pint.

"And what brings you here?" the Forsaken asked. "Didn't you always say you'd never wanted to come back here?"

Jerlis smiled. He'd really said that more than once… "It's nothing about a bet, more like a promise I'm keeping," he answered, than shrugged. "A friend asked me to help him out. He's a stubborn idiot who refuses to leave this place, so… here I am." Another shrug and a slug of ale. "Maybe I can convince him to move away…"

"You know, if you keep helping people there won't be much left of you for us to bury," Ardeth said, worry crossing features. "Remember that sentinel last year? She almost tore you to pieces…"

"Don't remind me," Jerlis grumbled, his mood darkened. Of course he hadn't forgotten that bitch… "My shoulder still hurts like hell sometimes…"

"So, how long will you stay?" Ardeth asked after a moments silence.

"Not much longer, anyway," Jerlis returned, pointing at his pack. "I'll get those supplies back first. Then I'm finished here for good… Before I have to report back, I wanted to visit Tri'khai… _if_ I can find him."

"Heh, miss him, do you?"

"If your leather-brow wouldn't waggle like that, the question could been taken seriously," the elf returned dryly.

Ardeth just laughed goodheartedly. "Not my field of experience," he said. "But if you go south, I'd recommend not to travel via the Undercity. That place is a hornet's nest right now."

Blessed be the Great Sun, now they were getting somewhere… "It's not like you people are idle," Jerlis pointed out. "What's going on now? People talk about some advance in Gilneas some months ago that didn't went quite as well as we would wish for…"

"The greatest loss of manpower and material since the beginning of the war down there," Ardeth said darkly, serious once again. "They almost occupied Gilneas City and managed to kill half of the Alliance's military leaders in the region. Good advance, but in the end they failed to make it through. They lost the city and good amount of veteran soldiers… I wonder why the Dark Lady didn't claim Amberton's head…"

Interesting… _interesting_. "You're speaking about Horacio Amberton? One of the heroes from Icecrown?"

"The very same."

"I heard he was promoted to High Executor…"

"Yeah, and he was in charge of the latest campaign in Gilneas. As far as I know, everything went well, but than some Alliance dog crossed his streak of luck and everything went wrong. He's still in charge, though, but instead of preparing some new campaign, he seems to be hunting something… or someone." He paused.

Jerlis had a hard time again to keep himself casual and just mildly interested. "How do you know about all that if you left for the Crusade?"

Ardeth smirked, before answering with a low voice. "I have a couple… friends left there. Don't tell anyone, but there is another reason why Fordring agreed to let me back to the Crusade." He winked.

"Ooooh…" Jerlis winked back in understanding, lifting his ale in silent salute.

"And why is it a bad time to travel down to the Undercity?" he asked. "I just came through there a week or two ago and everything seemed calm…"

"Control mechanisms have increased," Ardeth said. "Deathstalkers everywhere, newly risen are kept under close surveillance of the valkyrs, and there are rumors of some new goings-on in the Apothecary. If I'd have to make a guess, I'd say they are preparing for another big advance… and this hunt thing seems part of it. I just haven't found out what they might be looking for. It has to do with the latest quarrel in Gilneas. Other than that, I guess I have to wait for the latest intelligence…"

"Aren't you a little talkative about this thing?" Jerlis asked. Mind me, he was grateful for it, but it was highly unusual for a Forsaken, even if the man in question was Ardeth Bay, to talk so freely about Forsaken matters…

"You don't fool me, Duskmender," Ardeth grumbled. "You have the ear of High Command in Orgrimmar. If anything happens in the Undercity at least one competent fool knows about it."

"Oh, why thank you," Jerlis made a mocking bow.

Ardeth gave a short bark. "You may walk around like some tarted up blood elf, but you don't fool anyone… except these backwoods guys…" He flicked his finger, pointing at the many blood elves chatting around them, not bothering the pair of them.

"Those are still my people, so watch your language," Jerlis laughed.

"Not anymore, dude," Ardeth returned, earning himself a raised brow. "You are more Horde than any of these guys here. You don't even talk like them, much less move and act." He pondered a moment, observing the elf closely. "Army has changed you, Duskmender…"

"It comes with a change, yes," Jerlis agreed with a shrug. No news here. The longer he served, the more distance he felt between himself and his kin. He felt more at home among trolls and orcs than he'd ever felt in Eversong… "So, if I get close to the Undercity, what am I walking into other than a busy hornet's nest?"

"Don't be too cherry about it," Ardeth warned. "If it wasn't for the Kor'kron stationed there, things would've been worse. There is nothing concrete, but I can only advise you to not get too close. Strange but true, the guards seem to have a closer look at blood elves coming through there; there have been some arrests, too…"

_Whoops…_ "Arrests?" Jerlis echoed. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Ardeth nodded. "The prisoners weren't away long, though, just a few days and they were released again without conditions, but it's strange none the less…"

Very strange, and alarming. Horacio was obviously looking for any dark haired blood elf he could get his hands on, and those others were probably being interrogated…

"You see, it's unwise for your kin to stay there longer than necessary."

"Looks like it… Maybe I didn't got much of their attention, since I just walked from the zeppelin to the Translokation Orb…"

"Might be… Funny business, if you ask me. And High Command has kept a blind eye so far…"

Jerlis nodded thoughtfully. "And where do you think I should start looking for Tri?"

Ardeth didn't seem to mind the change of subject. "I met Roj'kah a few weeks ago, he said his father made himself a permanent home on the Echo Isles."

"You're kidding me? Tri'khai's settled down?"

"Surprising, huh? Yeah, I didn't believe it myself. That bugger is getting older, though. Roj said, he simply wanted to enjoy some calm…"

Jerlis snorted. "Tri'khai and calm, my ass!"

Ardeth chuckled. "Yes, dude, your ass indeed. Possibly he's just taken up residence there to travel on occasion. Who knows, that troll is unpredictable…"

"So, the Echo Isles it is," Jerlis rose his pint before emptying it. "At least its friendlier there…"

"Dude, come off it, I can't remember any place less inviting than this hole, including Icecrown. And back then I knew the definition of 'cold' by experience…"

"Can't blame you there, Man, can't blame you there." Both men rose from their seats and shook hands, they were done here.

"Send Tri and Roj my regards when you meet them," Ardeth said. "And remember – "

"Don't talk to evil, evil undead. Yes, _father_, I hear you," Jerlis returned grinning, gave a short wave and left. Now this was a really good day!

In leaving he didn't see Ardeth turning around, observing the priest when he left the Enclave. Jerlis also failed to notice the thoughtful frown knitting the leather stripes. He was good in fishing for intelligence, but in his enthusiasm he kinda forgot that his counterpart was just as talented as he was…

Ardeth Bay, making some more mental notes, retired to his room in the upper spires. He would keep his now undead eyes open.

* * *

I think I never wrote such a long dialogue… it was fun. Did I mention that my priest has some strange friends? ;)


	7. Chapter: Friends

I'm afraid, next chapter will take longer. I haven't even started yet.

So, enjoy this part as long as it's warm and fresh ;)

* * *

**7. "Friends"**

To say that Sera was happy to see him, would be an understatement. The moment he approached Windrunner Village, Jerlis had kept himself hidden in case anyone would have followed him or some stranger, who wasn't supposed to be here, turned up around a corner. After he deemed the area secure enough he approached the house occupied by Sera and her wolf, when his raptor screeched in joy, having scented him long before he even got close. Sera, upon hearing the raptor, must have suffered an almost infarct. However, the moment she beheld him in his dirty clothes, she, too, screamed in joy and relieve, almost tackling him.

Six days she had been alone. Even when it had been only her and Gharion, she hadn't been on her own for so long. She clawed at the priests neck, tears flowing over her cheeks without her noticing them, and Jerlis was too moved himself by this greeting to point it out. Petting both her and the joyous raptor, he was at a loss for words… which didn't happen to him often.

He had done everything in his power to get back as fast as he could. More than once he'd been chased by some beasts; he hadn't bothered them much, though, since he'd cast a shield around him and continued running until the beast would finally realize that he wasn't worth it. He also got himself a sprain in his left ankle somewhere beyond the Dead Scar when jumping over some root and losing his balance afterwards. A quick healing spell dealt with that but he felt sore and tired still. However, seeing his friend being alive and more or less well, made him almost shake with relieve. He hadn't realized just how worried he himself had been all the time.

It was late already but Sera refused to lay down. Jerlis sighted in defeat. "All right, all right, you blight of men," he said mockingly, grinning when she threw him a glare. "Bath, dry clothes and dinner, than I tell you what I learned."

While he sank into a tub with hot water heated up by the hearth, she squealed in delight occasionally while rummaging through his booty: various vegetables form Silvermoon, some sweets and ingredients for breads and cakes, dried fruits and herbs.

"How did you get all that stuff?" she asked after a while, while he was still busy with his bath. "I didn't know that the Enclave had so much attention…"

Kneading a second layer of soap into his hair, both eyes shut tight, he answered: "Don't forget that the Enclave is the last line of defense against the Amanis. All forces stationed in Zul Aman come from there. It may not be interesting for travelers and adventurers anymore, but it's still a vital strategic point of operation in the area. Not to mention that we don't have many towns under control here…"

"True," she mumbled, still busy with his purchases. "Did you… hear anything about Horacio?"

Even with his eyes closed he could hear her fear. He knew that both she and Amberton had been friends not so long ago, but Horacio had rejoined his undead kin in more than one way, with no place left for friendships or questions. Funny thing, he thought, while rinsing his mane. While Horacio returned to an ever closer connection with his kin, Ardeth was shunning it, no matter the commendations he had earned himself in a remarkably short time, granting him the title of "Champion". But then again, both men were as different as day and night…

"I met an acquaintance who had remarkable intelligence about the matter," Jerlis finally answered. "It seems that Horacio is looking for any sign of you, even going so far as to arrest blood elves on the spot, possibly for interrogation."

He didn't need to see her to know that she did the impossible and grew even paler. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

She swallowed hard. "Anything else?" Her voice shook.

"Not really, at least nothing you don't already know about." The skin of his fingertips started to crimp – time to get out of the tub. "They are quite agitated down there," he continued, toweling himself, relishing in the feeling of being clean again. True, he had to do without a bath or wash for weeks sometimes in the past, but he still preferred soap and clean water on a regular basis… "Possibly some big plan they are working on, but nothing concrete so far."

She pondered for a moment. "Don't you think it was unwise to talk to that friend of yours?" she finally asked. "I mean, now they know you are here…"

"It's no secret that I am," he returned, rubbing in earnest till his skin turned red. "High Command knows, my superiors know, Silvermoon knows… actually, everyone between here and Ashenvale knows… Though I wonder why exactly did Ardeth rejoined the Crusade… I hardly believe it was because of some shade doings in the Undercity…"

Sera's head rose. "Ardeth? Do I know him?"

"Possibly, he got himself promoted to _Champion of the Banshee Queen_ within two years."

Her brows rose higher. "Why should he leave then? I know for certain that Sylvanas doesn't simply let her subjects go…"

"Very true, but the loyalty of the newly risen Forsaken isn't as strong and unyielding as it is among the first generation. I even heard of rebellions against the Dark Lady. Thing is, many of these Forsaken, who were reanimated by the Valkyrs, remember their lost lives fairly well – and they remember that the Forsaken were their enemies. Three out of five cope with this new live rather pragmatic, one will go crazy and the last 'll get renegade."

Another moment of silence. "And this illness?"

"I have an idea of where to find this troll." He pulled his underwear on and a shirt over his head, the same time fishing for some clean trousers. "But I still don't want to speak about it as long as I don't know anything more…"

"You know much more about it than I do," she pointed out. "You can tell me. It has to do with the trolls, and I know I'm rather small for an elf. I tried to remember everything I know about troll curses but none of them seems to fit…"

"Stop fishing around," Jerlis sighted. Fully dressed, he fell on the divan next to her, leaning back against the soft pillows. "I won't tell you anything more until I had a chance to talk to Tri'khai." He truly was beyond tired…

"Tri'khai?" she echoed. "And do I know him?"

"Don't think so," he yawned. "Tri is a shaman; he had to abandon practicing as a witchdoctor when the Darkspear trolls joined the Horde. You remember? The craft was banned since Thrall, or Go'el if you want, found it beneath the Horde's standards…"

"You think, Garrosh will allow it again?"

"I don't even think that Garrosh knows the difference between a shaman and a witchdoctor," Jerlis snorted. "Don't get me wrong, Garrosh is a brilliant tactician and charismatic leader, but he doesn't even know a shred about his own peoples history or customs, and since he believes other races too far beneath him, he would never bother about them anyway…"

"You sound bitter." Sera watched him intently. She'd had her own dealings with Garrosh Hellscream in the past, but she always tried to keep him in high esteem, not matter his many faults. After all, he also came with many assets, as well…

"Not bitter," Jerlis sighted. "But everything we fought for in the past is about to go down the tube. Sure, we achieved a lot these last years, and we won a lot of viable ground, but I fear that Garrosh fails to look beyond his warfare. He takes his title as _Warchief_ literally, but fails to notice that War is a temporary state of emergency. Our dear Warchief, however, wants it to be a permanent matter."

Silence stretched between them. Jerlis' eyes watched the flames of the hearth, followed their dancing trails. He hadn't dared to speak his mind in the past; words of the like he just uttered were enough to mark him a traitor. He would never disobey his superiors but he was no fool either. He had seen enough war in his life, before and after joining the Horde, to know how this would spiral further. And the Alliance would reply in kind… Sometimes he wished he would have stayed a Grunt… instead of Warlord. Then he wouldn't get as much to know about politics as he did…

* * *

The weakness was kept at bay. Sera was lying on her back on hers and Gharion's bed; Jerlis sad next to her, both hands hovering an inch over her body. His magic allowed him insight in her physical system where he could "see" what was amiss there. Yet he was pleased with her overall condition. Sera's heart was beating in a steady pace, her breath was deep and calm, and the child was stable. Like he'd told her before leaving, she hadn't done much except some cooking and cleaning. She hadn't left the house other than to check on the raptor, who hadn't left the houses proximity at all. And then there was the supporting magic of the Fountain he'd left here. All in all, she looked great… if there wasn't that gnawing void deep down there; like a black hole it threatened to absorb everything that was supposed to keep a body alive.

"Da curse befalls 'dose who are s'posed to live," his friend, the former witchdoctor, had said. "An' it neva fails."

"Well, it _did_ fail on her," Jerlis had said back then.

Tri'khai had laughed manically. "Yeah, it did. An' yet, it still be 'dere. A bet yer ass, it'll return."

"Why do you always bed on my ass? It's mine after all…" The conversation took a rather silly turn then, especially since they both had their fair share of strong drinks. Hard to believe that the troll in question was father of five children, one of them a good friend of Jerlis, too, and grandfather of twelve troll-kids! Jerlis had to admit, trolls were strange… and most of his friend were trolls… _I must've done something wrong…_

Dismissing his thoughts he resumed and finished his inspection and send Sera to sleep which she did quickly. He himself fell in his own bed. She was born with the curse, so logically she wasn't the original target. Or maybe she was? Didn't she mention this older brother of hers who died a week after his birth? And what power had been strong enough to save her? Years ago she said, that no healer could actually help her with the unknown illness… but if priests and the Holy Light couldn't help, what could? True, he was able to keep it at bay now, but is was there, waiting, lurking… what if he, what if they would lose their focus? It would strike, and Seraphita would die.

Jerlis Duskmender fell into an uneasy sleep, his mind racing yet his body gratefully took the rest it got by sleeping deep and sound. He got old it seemed… Just one week in the wilderness and he was tiered already to death? Yes, those last years were indeed straining – and his "friends" didn't improved things, that much was sure…

* * *

The next morning, he woke with a start. Something woke him… some sound… It was his raptor. It hooted cheerily… why? Groaning, he sat up, rubbing his stinging eyes.

"Good morning," Sera greeted. Blinking he regarded her. "You were so cute while sleeping, I didn't want to wake you." She grinned slyly.

"Watch your mouth, you minx," he grumbled, rubbing his face and neck to get rid of his sleepiness. "Or I tell your husband that his wife is flirting with the enemy…"

She laughed at his thread, which wasn't any, and went up to the little hearth. "I don't think he would mind – after all he would blame you for it," she said.

Jerlis sighted deeply. By the Sun, what did he do that he slept so long, and deep? Maybe he really needed some days off… Unfortunately these were his days off duty… Friends… nothing but trouble. And yet… watching Sera as she walked outside to look at his raptor, he began changing his mind. Good thing about friends was, that they kept you company, that they made your life more worthwhile… giving it purpose beyond the usual standards.

When she returned, he threw her a look, which she returned puzzled.

"You were sleeping," she then said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her grown belly.

Jerlis grinned, shaking his head. "Oh no, sunshine, you know the roles. Sit down, Doctor Jerlis is back in town and will take care of anything else."

"I did manage things well enough while _Doctor Jerlis_ was absent," she mumbled crossly, but did as she was told.

"Of course," he chuckled.

The rest of the day went by uneventful. She told him what she'd done during his shopping tour and that she and the raptor also made a little walk, even getting close to the shores. But nothing unusual happened here. Even her thirst for arcane energies was manageable…

"You do know, that you have to change your attitude about that…" Jerlis fell in; he'd wanted to talk with her about this matter anyway…

Sera swallowed. "I know," she whispered, chewing on her lips. "It's just… I know that he has… aversions against it."

He rolled his eyes. "Girl, of course he has aversions against it. But if you don't want to settle in Sunstrider Isle, I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. I can keep your body alive, but I can't feed it the energy it craves." He sighted, giving her an encouraging smile. "But honestly, I don't think he would mind much. Your… husband is smart enough to realize that it's important for you to sate the addiction. After all, not only your life depends on it."

She smiled slightly, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I've been so proud… we all were, when the glow faded," she whispered. "Lor'Themar even thinks that we could rejoin our kin within the Alliance… This is after all prove that we were able to partially overcome the demonic influence and everything…"

"Sera, I would absorb the whole Burning Legion if that would mean I would finally find peace." He groaned. "Of course, I know this relieve would only last for a moment… but I would do it. I have seen too many elves succumb to this crap… And the worst of it, I can't do anything about it! As powerful a healer I am, I can't heal this shit!"

During his speech he became something fierce, his glowing eyes blazing in anger. "Do you know how it feels if you fight and fight, and nothing helps? – If feeding on fel energies keeps your body sated, even if it's just for a while, than, by the Great Sun, _do_ it! Principles about some blasted purity are not worth to die for!"

His words were not specifically pointed at her. He had this discussion with other elves before in the past – and it left him either angry at his counterpart's ignorance or tired beyond measure. Pride… it was his peoples greatest enemy, and even after facing and surviving their own holocaust, so many elves, blood and high elves, refused to be pragmatic about their situation. The blood elves held fast on their power, the high elves on their purity and their peoples proud heritage. Both wouldn't do if they wanted to survive on the long run…

No, Jerlis Duskmender was strong is this belief: Life was worth more than principles. If their survival was ensured, _than_ they could think about principles. Principles did not feed children, nor did it keep them save. It didn't make clothes, or a nice warm hearth… is also didn't build houses to live in… Principles were nice, yes, they were also necessary for a working society, but other than that they were a luxury they couldn't afford at the moment. And Sera was the best example to prove his point.

"And… where do I get a source of fel energy?" she asked hesitantly.

Jerlis blinked, a moment absorbed in his own angry thoughts. "Ah… didn't Gharion mention that one of his friends is a warlock…?"


End file.
